On
October 4, 1989, Canadian
Airlines international flight
#043 touched down at Edmonton
International Airport. The
long line up to the passport
control area was moving
slowly as usual and weary
passengers shuffled along
with their hand luggage,
looking over the heads in
front of them to see how
much longer they had to
wait.

At
the end of the line, a tall,
dark-haired man was supporting
a visibly pregnant woman.
She looked pale and exhausted;
she was staring at the crowd
ahead with eyes anxious
and tense. From time to
time, she would ask a question
of her partner, who would
answer in a low voice with
a gentle pat on her shoulder.
The man approached the immigration
officer first, pulling her
tenderly behind by the hand.

"We
are refugees. We are asking
for political asylum," Paszkowski
said to the officer. "Political
refugees," he repeated,
pointing at the woman and
himself.

The
passport control officer,
whose shift would soon end,
swore softly under his breath.
These two meant nothing
but trouble for him; lengthy
interviews and reports.
He was probably looking
forward to a quiet evening
watching the ball game and
sipping a beer. Now those
pleasures would have to
wait. He sighed and went
to get an immigration officer.
"Wait here, I'll be back
in a minute," he said.

Silently,
the couple watched him cross
the hall to the Airport
Immigration Office. The
man nervously fidgeted with
a strap on his hand luggage,
while the woman's eyes suddenly
filled with tears which
she quickly brushed away
with a finger.

The
passport officer returned
with two immigration officers.
Paszkowski repeated his
request to the newcomers,
"We're asking for political
asylum."

They
were asked to follow the
officers into an examination
room where the questions
began. "Home? Country of
origin? Motivation for seeking
asylum?" The officials left
the room after taking down
the personal data of the
two refugees. One of them
punched the material into
the computer and when further
data came up, printed out
a page. They returned to
the room where the couple
waited patiently.

"Hi,
Mr. Fisher," one of them
said, addressing the man.
"Long time no see."

"My name is not Fisher,
but Paszkowski. Ryszard
Paszkowski," I said. The
officer smiled knowingly.

The
two officials kept going
back and forth between the
room where we were held
and the one next door. Each
time they came back, they
seemed to be more agitated
and nervous looking. I feel
sure they called Ottawa
about us and were probably
told to get rid of us by
forcing us to get on a flight
back to Europe. The poor
guys were ill-at-ease and
not sure how to execute
their orders. They knew
perfectly well that the
moment we applied for political
asylum and gave our reasons
for asking, they couldn't
legally deport us without
a review of our applications
and a hearing.

When
asked for our passports
and plane tickets, I told
them I had destroyed them
on the plane and they didn't
believe it. Our luggage
was searched and we were
both checked. Nothing was
found.

One
of them, Greg Doherty, continued
making calls requesting
further instructions. After
a few trips to the room
next door, he came back
looking very serious and
threatened to use force
to get us on a plane leaving
shortly for Europe. I laughed
in his face. Upset, he rushed
out of the room again and
when he returned he asked
more calmly and almost politely
that we leave Canada on
the next flight for Europe
at the expense of Canada's
taxpayers, of course. When
we landed there, we could
then apply through the Canadian
Embassy for a visa.

"The
Canadian officials tricked
me once," I laughed. "It's
not going to happen again.
We're not leaving Canada
until our asylum hearing."

Doherty
shuffled out once again,
returning shortly and beginning
the official questioning.
He wrote everything down.
My English proved to be
inadequate to understand
some of the more complicated
terms; nor was I able to
explain in English fully
and clearly what I wanted
to say. They requested an
interpreter - an airport
employee - whose English
was almost as bad as mine.

After
the interrogation was over,
it was Ela's turn. I was
afraid the interpreter would
really mix things up for
her, which might be to her
disadvantage, but couldn't
help much because of my
own limitations then with
the language. By the time
they finished with Ela,
it was 2:00 a.m. She was
so tired that she put her
head on my shoulder and
fell asleep. Fatigue from
the long trip and our escape
from Germany combined with
her pregnancy took over.

The
immigration officers appeared
to be waiting for something.
At 3:00 a.m., three RCMP
members appeared. The female
one took Ela to a motel
and stayed in the room with
her all night.

The
two remaining told me to
follow them. I was not
handcuffed and walked quietly
behind one of them, who
didn't look back even once
to be sure I was following.
The second seemed to lag
far behind us. We took the
elevator to an upper level
and walked through to the
parking lot.

The
lead RCMP constable kept
walking briskly, not checking
at all to see if I followed,
while the other had disappeared
from sight entirely.

When
we got to the car his radio
sounded, "Where is Paszkowski?"
the voice asked.

"He's
with me by the car," he
answered.

"Did
he move?"

"No,
he didn't."

"Shit!"
the voice seemed upset.
"I'll be right there."

I
got into the car and he
shut the door. Soon the
second RCMP member showed
up and we drove away. The
whole thing seemed rather
clear. They were disappointed
that I hadn't attempted
to run away. They were hoping
that I'd try to bolt - that's
why they hadn't put the
handcuffs on me. If I had
tried to escape, they presumably
might have shot me. All
in the line of duty, of
course, for "attempting
to escape custody" and the
whole problem my arrival
presented would be gone.
My return to Canada would
embarrass quite a few people
in high places, including
some politicians in Ottawa.
They would be only too happy
to hear I'd had an `accident'.
"I won't give you the satisfaction,
you bastards," I thought
in my then exhausted state
of mind.

They
drove me to the RCMP office
and detention centre in
Leduc near Edmonton. I was
searched carefully and they
took away everything I had
in my pockets and locked
me in a cell. By then, I
was so tired that I immediately
fell asleep.

Immigration
officer Leroux filed his
report on October 4, 1989
to a supervisor, who in
turn advised the Immigration
office in Edmonton that
"the subject arrived at
this port on the 4th of
Oct. `89 off flight 043
Canadian seeking admission
to Canada as an immigrant.
The immigration officer
conducting the examination
is of the opinion that it
would be contrary to the
Immigration Act or Regulations
to grant admission to the
above subject."

A
communication regarding
the arrival of the couple
went to Immigration headquarters
in Ottawa/Hull; the next
day, October 5th, Chief
of European operations,
Gaudet, sent a classified
memo to the Canadian Embassy
in Bonn advising on the
arrival of Paszkowski and
Ela and asking for confirmation
on a top priority basis
of the status of Paszkowski
and his girlfriend in Germany.
The grounds for a 5-year-long
battle to have Paszkowski
removed from Canada have
been laid.

The next morning, I was
awakened early. This time,
I was handcuffed and my
feet were shackled for the
first time in my life. I
was then driven back to
the immigration office at
the airport where I found
Ela waiting. When she saw
me in my shackles, she burst
into tears. The RCMP removed
my chains and left us in
the care of the immigration
officials. We sat there
and waited to see what this
new day would bring.

Doherty
asked if we wanted anything
to eat. I wanted to give
him the money to buy us
some breakfast - we were
both starving by this time
- but he refused and said
all the expenses, such as
meals, motels, etc., would
be covered by the airlines.
Apparently the airlines
were responsible as they
brought us over without
proper documents and valid
entry visas to Canada.

We
spent the entire day at
the airport office. Ela,
despite her condition, was
holding up bravely. Doherty
showed me the Edmonton
Journal where an article
about us by Don Retson appeared.
I wondered how he'd found
out about us so quickly.

Late
that night, the female guard
again took Ela to the same
motel and I was escorted
back to the Leduc detention
centre by the RCMP - this
time in handcuffs. The next
day we were again returned
to the airport immigration
office where they let us
move freely around the airport,
either to the washrooms
or just to stretch our stiff
legs. Nobody seemed concerned
that we might escape, so
I had trouble understanding
the daily performance with
my legs and hands being
manacled. Why would I want
to escape? To where? We
came to Canada so that we
could live here as legal
citizens. Not to escape
from it!

Later
that day, we were put in
a car and taken to the Immigration
Office in downtown Edmonton.
They escorted us to a cell-like
room and kept us waiting
without telling us what
was going to happen.

After
an hour or so, a young woman
appeared and introduced
herself as defense counsel
Tita DeRousseau. Her first
question was, "Do you seriously
wish to apply for refugee
status in Canada?" I thought
I was going to hit the roof!
What in the world did they
think I came here for? Beaver
hunting? Ela and I had risked
a lot to come here to live
in peace and these people
continued to pretend they
didn't know why. I realized
my unannounced arrival was
an embarrassment to CSIS,
but I couldn't understand
why my own lawyer would
ask such silly questions.

DeRousseau
tried to convince me that
even though Ela had a credible
case to receive refugee
status in Canada, I didn't
stand a chance because I
had already been granted
political asylum in West
Germany. If one of us was
granted status, the other
one could not hope to get
it too since we were not
married and couldn't prove
a `common law relationship'.
She also told us that we
would be treated as two
separate cases to be reviewed
independently of each other.
She informed us that we
would be brought before
an adjudicator who would
determine if we had good
basis to apply for refugee
status in Canada, and who
would also decide if we
could be released from detention.
This was the first time
we had been officially informed
that we were detained. No
one prior to this had mentioned
it - they just kept us locked
up.

I
was uncomfortable about
the way DeRousseau was handling
our case and asked her who
sent her to us. She was
assigned to our case, it
turned out, by the local
Immigration office and I
soon felt she was trying
to please both sides. I
didn't like it at all, but
we didn't know any other
lawyer in Edmonton; nor
could we afford one. I told
DeRousseau to tell her bosses
that I had no intention
of withdrawing my request
for refugee status and I
was going to fight for it
to the end. She didn't seem
to like that and left angry.

Ela
was to appear first before
the adjudicator. She was
scared and felt defenceless
to be taken without me.
I tried to reassure her
that everything would be
okay and she left. I kept
my fingers crossed for her.

An
hour or so later DeRousseau
reappeared, all smiles,
saying the adjudicator had
recognized Ela's case as
having a credible basis
to apply for refugee status.
Now it was my turn.

Two
immigration officers accompanied
by my lawyer took me into
the hallway, which led to
the elevator to the hearing
room. Outside there was
a crowd of cameramen, flashing
lights, and reporters asking
questions. I was surprised
to see this media invasion
and wondered how they knew
about me.

In
the room where my hearing
was held, there were a number
of journalists and a Polish
interpreter, Janina Muszynski,
waiting. I understood most
of what was said to me except
for the legal terms but
to express myself clearly
in English, I then needed
assistance. Janina was a
real help.

The
adjudicators, George Wojtowicz
and Sherry Makarewicz, were
on the panel which would
determine if I had a credible
basis to apply for refugee
status in Canada. The Case
Presenting Officer, Bud
Winchester, represented
the Immigration Department
and would oppose my right
to apply, while Tita DeRousseau
would defend me. Should
the panel, after hearing
both of them and my testimony,
decide that I did not have
a credible basis to apply,
a deportation order against
me would be issued. If the
panel decided in my favour,
I would receive a full refugee
hearing.

Winchester
began with an aggressive
attack, describing me as
a dangerous and violent
terrorist who, if released
from custody, would escape
and not report for the hearing.
As such, he claimed, I had
no basis to apply for refugee
status. He seemed so agitated
and personally hostile to
me that I wondered what
had ticked him off so badly.
He also claimed that it
was me who tipped off the
media. This was completely
untrue. However, after DeRousseau's
presentation and the questioning
of me, the panel left for
deliberation and upon its
return, the adjudicator,
Wojtowicz, announced its
decision: I was found to
have a credible basis to
apply for refugee status
and would get a full hearing.

At
an inquiry starting October
6, 1989 and concluding October
12th, a Credible Basis Tribunal
comprised of an adjudicator
and a member of the Refugee
Division of the Immigration
and Refugee Board found
that Paszkowski had a credible
basis for his claim as a
convention refugee and referred
his claim to the Refugee
Division.

The
Edmonton Immigration Case
Presenting Officer, Bud
Winchester, did not do his
homework properly. He claimed,
for example, that Paszkowski
was arrested in 1982 by
the Polish police for illegally
transporting a printing
press and that he escaped
custody and took off to
Bulgaria. This was a confusion
of the real doings of Paszkowski
and the invented ones of
Robert Fisher, the alias
provided by the RCMP in
Rome. One possible explanation
of how a Case Presenting
Officer working on a high
profile case would make
such fundamental mistakes
is that he was provided
with material that originated
with CSIS. Among his material
was Paszkowski's hand-written
copy of the letter brought
by the lawyer to the West
German prison and subsequently
mailed to Nick Maduck in
an attempt to protect Maduck
in his outrageous handling
of Paszkowski. Another explanation
is that Immigration and
CSIS officials were totally
unprepared to face Paszkowski
back in Canada and were
simply not prepared to deal
coherently with his case.

Adjudicator
Wojtowicz, in fact an employee
of the Immigration department,
in his summation at the
first level hearing, concluded:
"Your history, Mr. Paszkowski,
is almost a unique one.
You have demonstrated throughout
your history a skill and
resourcefulness that is
rarely found, and indeed
you have achieved successes
that are rarely encountered."
Considering Paszkowski's
release from detention during
the credible basis hearing,
Wojtowicz decided against
it saying: "Your history,
Mr. Paszkowski, is that
of a skilled, perhaps gifted
man when it comes to eluding
the authorities, and given
the demonstration of this
over the last six years
or so, not one or two isolated
cases but essentially a
continuum of giving the
authorities the slip in
some way or the other, I'm
satisfied that you would
have to be kept in custody
to ensure your availability
for the continuation of
this inquiry, and as such
your detention will continue."

Sherry
Makarewicz on behalf of
the Board announced the
decision: "We heard evidence
by you today that was referred
to by Mr. Winchester as
a spy story, but in essence,
intelligence work by nations
is linked to their political
ideology in order to further
their own internal and external
political agendas. Mr. Winchester,
representing the minister,
had an opportunity to challenge
your plausible story and
he chose not to do so, and
since the evidence went
unchallenged, our finding
is that the essence of the
testimony is based in fact.
We do find a credible basis
for your claim to be a convention
refugee and we refer your
claim to the Refugee Division
for a determination of your
refugee status."

Winchester
wanted Paszkowski kept in
custody while awaiting his
second level refugee detention
hearing, claiming he would
disappear as "he is very
apt at changing identities
and moving about very freely."
The adjudicator Wojtowicz,
who earlier in the hearing
dismissed the claim that
Paszkowski was a danger
to the public, said: "...The
fact that you hijacked an
aircraft some years ago
does not necessarily make
you a danger to the public
today." He released Paszkowski
from custody: "It is your
intention to remain in Canada.
You would be a fool, I can't
think of a better word,
to compromise your own efforts."
I was a free person at last.
Ela and I hugged each other,
happy to be together. The
two immigration officers
who had escorted me to the
hearing left after learning
the adjudicators' decision.

I
was released from custody
with some conditions imposed:
report personally at the
Immigration office every
week; don't leave Edmonton
without special permission
from immigration officials;
be available to report at
Edmonton Immigration for
removal when required; and,
report any change of address
within 48 hours. There were
limits to my liberty, but
it was liberty nevertheless.My pleasure at being
freed was short-lived.

Tita
DeRousseau objected to me
leaving the building, saying
there was a detention warrant
for me issued by the RCMP
and I could be arrested
at any time. She didn't
know why the warrant for
my arrest had been issued,
but knew there was one.
She called the Edmonton
City Police to come and
escort me to the remand
centre. They refused, saying
they had not heard anything
about any warrant. She then
asked the immigration guards,
who also refused. After
a number of calls, DeRousseau
announced that two immigration
officers would escort me
to the remand centre.

Ela
was left all alone in the
middle of a city she didn't
know and containing not
one soul she could call
a friend, filled with people
who didn't speak her language.
Again, I was indebted to
the Polish interpreter,
Janina Muszynski. She took
Ela to a Polish church in
Edmonton and the priest
there gave her a room to
stay in at the church building.
I worried about her, knowing
how abandoned she would
feel alone among so many
strangers.

At the remand centre, I
phoned my friend, Ryszard
Fryga, and asked him if
he could take care of Ela.
Immediately after the call,
Ryszard and his wife, Teresa,
went to get Ela and brought
her to their home. Now she
would feel more secure,
being among friends, and
she wouldn't be left alone
to fend for herself.

A
week or so later, I received
a copy of the written detention
order and it turned out
they were holding me on
the charge that upon first
arriving in Canada on December
11, 1984, I concealed my
criminal conviction for
hijacking. There was no
mention of the fact that
I had used a false name
(Robert Fisher). The warrant
was issued in my real name,
Ryszard Paszkowski, but
the date of birth was the
one for Robert Fisher, May
5, 1957. My date of birth
is March 4, 1955. They couldn't
even get these few facts
straight. They must have
been in quite a hurry in
order to get everything
so mixed up. What really
proved that both CSIS and
the RCMP were acting moronically
was the fact that the RCMP
officer who delivered my
detention order included
a photocopy of the application
in the name of Robert Fisher
for a travel document back
in 1986 which I needed to
go to Rome on the CSIS-sponsored
mission. In fact, the application
was filled out in Nick Maduck's
handwriting. Now the RCMP
was giving a copy to me
as a basis for their charges.
It all seemed absurd. Was
the RCMP providing me with
damaging proof against CSIS?
Perhaps the two departments
weren't getting along too
well!

In
the meantime, the Immigration
department appealed the
decision to grant me the
right to a full refugee
hearing. Their appeal was
rejected and I continued
to languish in custody waiting
for my day in court. The
Canadian jail was a gloomy
affair in comparison to
the European prisons in
which I had spent time before.
The rules and regulations
governing the life of prisoners
in the Edmonton facility
seemed at least twenty years
behind those in Europe.
The guards were both abrupt
and provocative towards
inmates, showing off their
control over us like `generals'
over their soldiers. If
the prison guards in Germany
or Italy behaved towards
inmates the way I observed
them to do in the Edmonton
jail, inmates would rebel.

At
first, I was in Section
2B of the jail, lumped together
with petty hoodlums who
treated the jail as a place
to shower, eat and rest.
They would then return to
the streets until the next
time they were caught for
some minor infraction. After
a few days in Section 2B,
they moved me to Section
6C - the high security zone
where offenders were kept
for more serious crimes
like aggravated assault
and murder. When I asked
if I was considered as dangerous
as the inmates charged with
murder, the director replied
that I was moved to 6C because
I had a "high profile".

Lawyer
Tita DeRousseau was supposed
to get me out on bail, but
each time she went to a
bail hearing she would return
saying that the judge wouldn't
listen to her and had refused
to let me out on bail. I
began to feel that she simply
wasn't aggressive enough
to deal with my case effectively.
As an inexperienced counsel,
she presumably hadn't yet
built up a reputation. The
judges perhaps felt they
could ignore both her and
her clients. It appeared
to me that the Canadian
justice system required
a tough and pushy lawyer
who could manoeuvre through
the labyrinth of legal rules
and regulations. This was
what I needed to get me
out of jail and defend me
later in court.

In
the meantime, I was trying
to make arrangements to
marry Ela while in jail.
I knew her pregnancy was
quickly progressing and
she would feel embarrassed
and shamed to have a baby
while unmarried as her small
town upbringing was still
strong. We had planned to
get married anyway, so I
asked the jail authorities
if they would let us have
a wedding ceremony in the
jail. I was told that as
long as the immigration
office did not oppose it,
they would allow the ceremony
to take place. However,
my nemesis, Bud Winchester,
wouldn't allow us to marry,
claiming that they were
not sure I was Ryszard Paszkowski.
I filed a sworn affidavit
stating my identity as Ryszard
Paszkowski after which it
seemed it was okay to go
ahead with the ceremony.
Ela went to the Vital Statistics
office in Edmonton with
an interpreter to get a
marriage license. They all
came to the jail to get
my signature on the license,
but weren't allowed in.

After
a few hours of waiting,
the Vital Statistics employee
was told she couldn't see
me because Immigration wouldn't
allow it. I made a few telephone
calls and got the run around
from Winchester, from the
Department of Justice, from
the Attorney General of
Alberta's department, and
from the Director of Vital
Statistics. Nobody could
help and I soon understood
why. It was apparent Ela
had very good chances of
being recognized as a convention
refugee. As her husband,
I would automatically have
to be recognized too. They
had to prevent the wedding
so her case, now being heard,
would be under her maiden
name and remain separate
from mine.

I
remained in jail and was
taken to the hearings in
leg chains, which I found
most humiliating. In West
Germany when arrested for
hijacking, I wasn't even
handcuffed. Only after I
declared to the media that
I would refuse to testify
while shackled were they
taken off.

My
counsel, DeRousseau, and
I had in the meantime parted.
I simply didn't think she
was handling the case adequately.
Moreover, I was quite sure
that her dependence on the
Immigration Department as
her real client made her
less effective as my counsel.
I contacted Brian Beresh,
who, as the grapevine in
jail had it, was the kind
of lawyer I needed. He soon
delivered a small miracle.
On January 9, 1990, I was
released from custody after
having spent three months
and four days in jail.

Outside,
the Edmonton media were
waiting, hungry for sensational
news. Ela, who was still
staying with our friends,
waited for me with a delicious
Polish dinner.

With the help of our friends,
we soon moved out to live
on our own and were married
on January 19, 1990 in a
simple but moving ceremony.
Ela took a big leap of faith
when she took me for better
and for worse. A month and
a half later, our beautiful
son, Patrick, was born.
Now I had a family to protect
and think of.